Getting Shirty

A t-shirt intrigued me the other day (you certainly can't accuse this blog of containing unscintillating sentences...). Anyway, this exciting garment bore the following message:





Wow. Whoever owns this must have guaranteed their place in the Parthenon of greats! Who knew that getting god-like status was so easy? I thought you had to do heroic deeds, fight monsters, or save millions (of lives, that is - I'm not suggesting you become the stuff of myths through being extremely thrifty) but no, apparently all it takes is purchasing a shirt for £8.49!

Affordable ways of buying status aside, the slogan appears to imply that there is a key difference between the wearer and their legacy which is quite disappointing especially if, as the direction of the arrow implies, said reputation is that they're a dick. Maybe their genitals are going to be celebrated in song for years to come? Who knows? I'm definitely not canny enough to work it out. If only I was a legend.

Radio (not so) Gaga.

This week, a journalist listened to a single programme of a Radio 4 sitcom she ended up disliking and wrote off, on the basis of this one half hour, not just the episode or the show, but the whole of audio comedy. Based on that logic, I should, because I hated her article, give up words.

I've not though. Obviously.

What I will give up on however is reading pieces with outrageous intentionally attention-seeking headlines that are clearly designed to provoke people into reading their contentious views, retweet them endlessly, and blog about why they're wrong whilst again linking people to the original arti-

Oh.

Well, I've failed there. Perhaps I should give up words...